White Gloves
by littlereaperboy
Summary: Death the Kid and Crona go out and build a snowman, something that Crona hasn't seen before. All is well, considering Kid only trusts himself to measure each piece proportionately, but the finishing touches might be left to his friend.


**DISCLAIMER**: Nothing but headcanon and plot belongs to me. All characters are credited to Atsushi Ōkubo.

.:oOo:.

"…A-and then we… p-put a face on it?"

Crona looked on uncertainly, damp lime-green mittens folded together in front of his mouth as he huffed a short burst of air into curled palms. Kid straightened up and stepped back, his own hands — clad in white gloves — finding their way to his hips to rest as he regarded both his creation and his companion.

"Yes, that's the general idea. Do you still have those buttons I gave you to hold onto?"

Crona blinked at him, flinching back in slight surprise as he was jerked back into reality with a direct question; he'd been marveling at the snowman between them, likely wondering what the point of building a man out of snow was. It seemed pretty silly, really; wouldn't he just melt, eventually? That was kind of sad.

_Poor snowman_, Kid could almost hear him thinking.

"O-oh, y-yeah, I s-still have them…!"

His stutter seemed to have worsened with the cold, his jaw trembling slightly behind the thick scarf that Maka had made for him, and that he'd ducked his head to bury the lower half of his face in. Kid frowned softly to himself, recalling just how long they'd been standing out here. The pieces of the snowman had to be proportioned precisely, of course, it wasn't just something you could roll together carelessly. But still; knowing that Crona hadn't complained and was willing to stay outside with him was enough to rekindle the flicker of warmth that had pooled in his stomach when he first agreed to let Kid show him how to make a snowman in the first place.

Crona moved his hands to fumble in his pockets for the two shining black buttons, rounded with gold trim around the sharp edge of the bottoms. The reaper watched with a tilted head, blinking to dislodge the newly fallen flakes that had clung to his eyelashes as a new sheet of thin snow dusted over and past them. The pinkette plucked at his pocket for a while before he thought to check the other one, and Kid caught the short exhale of '_oh_,' as he seemed to have found them.

"H-here," Crona held out a slightly trembling hand, intent on dropping the buttons into Kid's palm to let him finish it himself; after all, he had made the rest of it on his own.

"No, no," Kid shook his head slightly, though he did reach out. "Don't you want to do it?"

Crona's eyes widened a bit as Kid curled his fingers around his hand, gently tugging him just a bit closer to the (rather marvelous, while faceless) snowman, which stood at a height somewhere between the two of them. The reaper quickly let his arm fall back to his side, raising the other to point at a precise spot on the snowman's head.

"Put one right here— and the other there."

Kid turned to watch as Crona's eyebrows knitted upwards in hesitation, though a lime-green-mittened hand eventually reached to press one of the buttons into the snow where the reaper had instructed. Not before he could even pull his hand away, it wibbled and nearly fell, and as he moved to try and fix it, a white glove reached to do the same. Numb, fumbly fingers bumped unaffected ones, cold on their own and not quite needing the protection they bore, and Kid hummed slightly as the button was effectively twisted and pushed into the snow by both of their fingertips from either side.

He stepped back to watch Crona put the other button on, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth up ever so.

"S-something's missing…" Crona murmured, to no one in particular; it didn't seem that the words were for his friend, or even himself.

The expression on Kid's face wilted for just a moment in thought, but before he could ask what Crona meant, the pinkette had gathered the fabric of one of his mittens in his palm to leave only a pointed index finger, raising his hand again to delicately trace a very small curved line between and under the buttons on the snowman's face.

A very small smile.

"There."

The reaper's own smile returned to his face and expanded, his hands finding his hips again as he admired the snowman for a moment. His attention soon turned to Crona, though, watching the way curious eyes flitted over the icy form and picking apart the things that danced in them; pride, and content. The expression shrank yet again, in his own contentment, utterly charmed.

"Absolutely perfect."

.:oOo:.


End file.
